


The Precise Symphony of the Welkin

by ghirahimuwu



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, male parent mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghirahimuwu/pseuds/ghirahimuwu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghirazant Week, Day 3</p><p>star /stɑr/   n., adj., v., starred, star•ring.<br/>any body in the sky, except the moon, that appears as a fixed point of light in the night sky</p><p> The stars are rather new for Zant... and so are certain unstoppable emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Precise Symphony of the Welkin

**Author's Note:**

> Stars are normally depicted as having five ends, sharply shaped. This comes from the perfect pentagon, which can be traced to form one of them.  
> I tried to make this word as perfect as possible for you to enjoy it! 
> 
> Special thanks to usurpxrregalis on tumblr, who helped me out with the words in Twili speech.

As the sun sank its mane relentlessly into the horizon, licking the soft desert dunes, two pairs of eyes perused the changes on the sky. From an orange as bright as burning desert days, to mauve and finally vast, never-ending blue. So their days faded, one after the other, and not even the idea of the Allied forces eventually advancing could derail them from that routine.  
They had quite become at home with each other, the Demon King's two minions. Without the initial push of their common admiration for their Master, they probably would have never given their relationship a second chance. Thus, what had become a wonderful mixture of self-trust and comprehension would have remained as... what, exactly?

Hate, perhaps... or simply animosity.  
Neither of them desired to give such reminiscences a second thought. In all seriousness, they were way past such meddlesome trivialities. If by chance they chose to discuss their past turbulence, laughter was their language.

The banter that had once made up the entirety of their interactions still showed up every now and then, mostly on Ghirahim's side when he criticized Zant for not doing things the right way -his way-; which didn't exclude the occasional event of Zant decrying as well. That particular dusk, however, had arrived without either of them making a negative remark on the other for the day. Simply hanging around the other. In all honesty, that was the way Zant most enjoyed their free time together.

Not with talking about the other's flaws, for they had grown to love and accept the majority of those.

Ghirahim and Zant now entertained in other types of chatting, or did none at all. They cherished being in company. So much so, that they could hold silence for a long time and just occasionally stare at each other, chortling and smiling. If that failed to make things enjoyable enough... they both had colorful thoughts that needed sharing every now and then.  
And Zant's current obsession with the welkin accounted for more than one interesting gab.

"Ghirahim?"

"Yes?"  
Much like hearing Zant speak had been a surprise, Ghirahim tipped his head just enough to see him without prying his chin into his shoulder. That urged him to continue:

"When the stars appear..."

"Hmm?"

"What do you think...," there he went, again with the stars. Shouldn't he simply keep quiet and bask in the beauty of both the sundown show and his lover? "What do you think they mean?" He paused. "Light-dwellers... do you read the stars?"

Predictably enough, -judging by the quiet hum he had received as a reply and the frequency of his queries about space-, Ghirahim's reply was null. Silence.

Silence, much unlike the tunes he was hearing in that instant. It was almost as if every astral body above their heads had decided to begin chanting in the most pleasing tune as they started shimmering in the blue extent of the sky. As prepossessing as that was, he could not simply ignore or live with that. Besides, he was getting rather dizzy. His ears fluttered uncomfortable like a pesky desert insect.

"They are speaking to me, Ghirahim."

"Are they now? What is it that they're saying?" Spoke the other once he'd engaged with Zant's conversation.

But before Zant could reply, the intensity of the voices dropped. All that he had perceived around him was no longer. The myriad, the choir, the noises enveloping him quelled down to a single voice. A single sentence. Beautiful. _Beautiful_. Precise and flawless, unmarred like all around them. From chaos, he had drawn beauty. Thus, Zant had virtue.

Where had he heard such cadence before? It lent his ears a certain peace seldom before experienced by any, not Twili or Hylian... not even Demon. It hurled his soul through the primal threads of Destiny, back in time and through space until he was simply a kid in the Twilight Realm, reading one of the biggest books of the entire palace.

Now, what was that book called, again? _D'nel de'enos_. He could recall Ghirahim telling him that Hylians used the word Astronomy for the study of the stars.

His soul had been enthralled with those blinding spots in the endless fabric of the sky from the very first moment. Years later, in another setting, he had encountered them face to celestial visage. Wondrous stars, always silent; once they became accustomed to Zant, they spoke to him. And they had spoken in nonsensical tongues, until finally it was clear.

Some Hylians, according to the book, kent the stars to be the weavers of their Fate. Whatever the Goddesses said, infinite, unfathomable vessels of pure light shot through the dark eternity to forge it. Such a concept was hard for him to grasp: Fate had betrayed the Twili, it had raided them from all they deemed worthy until they lost connection with the spirits within, and their ancestors as well.

Fate was but a treacherous face of a greater evil. Fate was their banisher and their executioner. How could the pure constellations be servants to a blight such as the relentless Hylian Fate? For that reason, he had always revolted: against Fate, against the binds that kept his people captive, against the servitude of the stars, subject to the whims of an impure Destiny.

Zant took immense pride in his task. Being the one to restore his kindred's glory of yore through his gorgeous books, to lead them and illustrate their barely sentient souls into a new era of twilit, luminous splendor! Beaming through the rays, particles of primal dust. The Twili in their newfound sense, in their newly-acquired glory!

Ah, if only that could also free the stars...

Yet, as fair and pure as his dream had seemed, few of them followed suit, and they had all but perished completely to the unstoppable maw of the Hylians. Nobody of his station had ever shared his visions, his hunger for a lyrical future where dark and dim is the new radiant.  
His God Ganondorf had been traitorous and more ambitious than himself. Midna, his equal, desired to dwell in ignominy. His new Master worked in much higher levels than the former one. His power had no rival.

Only one soul had he met whose goal was to serve a fairer cause. Another oppressed race, and one as beautifully chaotic as his own.

"Zant, my dear... are those tears of joy?"

Who knew? Not Zant himself certainly, for he was too absorbed in his own reflections, mind spinning like the strained gears in some clockwork machinery excuse for an organism.  
In his drifting, his own tears went unnoticed, and so did Ghirahim's inebriating gaze.

Eyes like those could easily cause the stars to shake from their celestial perch and descend into the dwelling of the mortals. Hair swept back like threads of the moon itself, Ghirahim looked like the cerulean and illuminated embodiment of starlight.

"I..." it was hard to focus with such unearthly beauty in his immediacy. "I do believe so."

He was wonderfully relieved when he saw Ghirahim's lips stretch into a smile whose whiteness could rival snow, and pearls. "Then I shall not interfere. Share that joy with me, if you will. You look so capturing with it..."

Words made fewer sense with every second that passed by. Intoxicated by the precise music of the welkin, Zant  could only dare to close his runny eyes and simper, becoming as nonexistent as his response.  
Was he really beginning to lose bond with his body again? Twilis weren't prepared for such strong emotions, and much less for being trapped with them, having no way to vent them out. The last time he had become Soul and Flesh...

So long ago. Now, it was surreal. It was art.  
It was beautiful. Not only was he watching the stars: he was now in them, with them, among them. They were singing softly, he felt almost like he could hold them! Perfectly certain like the past, yet ethereal as all the possible futures, the stars had arrived to his desperate call. It wasn't ghastly, it was complex.  
Deep in musings, Zant's Soul had risen, yet his body remained where it was. It had never left Ghirahim's side and was, in fact, gaining proximity with every second.

His fingers soon felt the enticing resistance of a supple, soft material. His lips were met with more of it, and he was One again.  
_Could he really be holding that elusive starlight?_

The idea was engrossing, but his own senses fain proved him wrong within seconds.  
And what in reality happened was just as precious (if not more) than his dream of embracing the sky:

It happened that, as soon as he regained full consciousness, Zant was met with the damp smoothness of Ghirahim's lips against his. In a slow pace, both were moving with a harmony to rival all choreographies of old. It was almost as if that mocking Fate they both begrudged had created that moment, forged so that it served as a heavenly, sacred apology.

If that was it, Zant took it.  
After years of being bludgeoned, he was receiving his share of the 'small good things' his father had told him about. Only an infant then, Zant had been scornful of such an innocent mindset. From an early age he was taught to be meek, to be oppressed. If he was to live for the little good things, then he would rather not live at all...  
In fact, he was beginning to consider taking that into action until he was beckoned with a call from above. That, until he found his God... but, again and invariably, more suffering followed.

He was just now starting to think his entire time in the Earthly World had been in vain, and Ghirahim had had the guts to show and prove just how incorrect that idea was. There _still_ was a war to win, ideals to fight for, and most importantly someone he wanted to be with.  
As if all that wasn't already a wakeup call, the realization had been voiced by the stars themselves; akin to a milliard of voices, singing in choir. A single voice, composed of many: that of the welkin, and it sang about a second chance for Zant.

Now Ghirahim's beauty in Soul and Flesh was like the earthly manifestation of the voice of the stars. His lover was so close to him, begging with his lips for him to keep holding on to the gift of life. There would ever be something worth fighting for. Ghirahim would, furthermore, ever be a reminder of that.

That was the reason why, when the demon broke the kiss, Zant looked distraught.

"What a _beautiful_ way of sharing that joy with me, Twili."

There wasn't enough time for Zant to get lost again, yet there were so many things he could project his mind onto. Namely, the way Ghirahim's now mussed hair matched the color of the moon above; and his lips, irrigated and unpainted from their intense lip-lock... how inviting they looked _again_! Or, perchance, just how similar to the stars his voice rang.

No, he definitely could _not_ get lost in all that this time.

Thus, and so as to say something, he mumbled what was arguably the blandest sentence that had left his lips in all of his life: "So- it was _me_ who kissed _you_..."

A laugh. Like thousands of bells in the sky, Ghirahim lacked words but exceeded in allure and comprehension.  
But Zant could not afford to get lost in his laugh. Luckily, the cavalry arrived for him.

"You kissed me as if it was the last thing you would ever do..."

Ghirahim then laughed again, and Zant's heart capsized. Just as he had been aware of the stars, he hadn't been aware of the beginning of their heated and passionate kiss. His mind only surprised him more with each episode he had.  
Oh how he ached to burst into words and explanations so that Ghirahim could comprehend... how he wished he could simply deconstruct all that had happened to him in the span of a few seconds, and turn it into a simple, single sentence for Ghirahim to know!

No possible words, in Hylian nor in Twili, could reach the boatful of things he had been through in such a short period of time.

But he might as well try.

"Well, I a--"

And of course his measly stuttering was the perfect beginning! Zant was profoundly ashamed, but he didn't even have to trail off: in the fashion of his personal saving grace, Ghirahim made an addendum- more like completely cut him off. The delicate tone of his voice wished to be an apology, but hardly made it anywhere close;

"But you needn't say sorry, either. I enjoyed it in earnest."

As rude as the approach itself was, something in Zant found it nigh impossible to be mad. Ghirahim was trying to calm and soothe him; and even if the means weren't appropriate, his dexterous fingers  through his hair provided something unfathomable. Like a rising flame in his insides, Zant was far beyond relieved. He was cured to the marrow of _all_ his problems. All but one.

One magnificent, horrendous issue. His hands twitched before even anything in him could spring. Sudden waves of anxiety took him by surprise. When he finally gathered enough self control to breathe steadily, he was again submitted to the tide. Zant twitched. Ghirahim noticed. He was about to be snapped in a half by his own mind.  
Erratic and imposing thoughts raided him; and over the humming and purring he elicited, could Ghirahim guess what was going on? Even if he wasn't in a state of utter despair, Zant swam in his woes. Episodes of such separation often left him in deep emotional distress. The truth was that he probably could calm down. Probably.

But the inquiry persisted and pestered him.

Had he gone over the imaginary line he had vowed to cherish and protect? Had he touched Ghirahim without his golden, necessary, perfect permission? There was no way to know, except perhaps...

"Something still bothers me. What- what else have I done?"

...voicing his worries.

There was a fraction of time in which silence became the only known interlocutor for Zant's musings. The stars all gawked at how heavenly a visage Ghirahim exposed so as to let them kiss him. In that ephemeral instant, Zant got a futile perception of just how possessive he was. It was useless to know that. He might as well never think of it again. But if he could have something, he'd choose to be the only one to behold Ghirahim's magnanimous grandness.  
Perhaps I ought to work on not being like this, Zant thought.

Then, the second ended. He was granted a reply.

"What do you mean, Zant?" Ghirahim asked back, empathetically.  
And the words danced on his pout.

As if to offer further support, he was quick to shift positions with him. Zant's hand was promptly led onto his lap, where his lips formed a smile. Then, Ghirahim's beautiful fingers followed their habitual path through his auburn tresses.  
The best type of catharsis, Zant concluded, was having his lover around to support him in everything. Each one of his fingers reminded him of their love. His eyes, steely in hue yet golden in intention, were a beacon for all the happiness in his world. The curve of his smile was the silver-lining of all clouds.  
Each word and little gesture of Ghirahim's kneaded into his turbulent mind like with linen, undoing the knots and netting until there were only loose strands of troublesome thoughts.  
How did he know? How could he possibly have the key, and so often? Besides, it all looked like some charm of his instinctive behavior, relaxed and not plotted out in the slightest.  
Zant could proudly say he had found his favorite person yet.  
Now he needed to make sure he hadn't accidentally hurt him.

"Well, I was definitely not within my own mind." He stopped mid-sentence to contemplate the worried mien in Ghirahim's eyes. " These things happen to me, try not to look so alarmed."

Once Ghirahim's expression relaxed, Zant continued. " I fear knowing I might have hurt you, or gone too far, or-"

The soft nightly breeze was pushed onto his face by Ghirahim's silvery hair. He shook his head so emphatically it almost tickled the tip of Zant's nose.    
What could that possibly mean? No to _what_ , exactly?

Zant didn't want to be irrational, but was Ghirahim disregarding his worries? Not to jump to conclusions, but that was the exact same demeanor Midna had had when...

"Hush, my Twili. Don't you think I would have let you know in the event of such thing?"

What a gracious way of cutting his thoughts short!  
The unstoppable machine within his head would otherwise have rolled on forever, grinding gears and clattering until he was reduced to a self-gnawing mess. It was not his fault. Zant was sure that it wasn't. Delicate minds like his should be kept away from experiences like disassociation and the exhaustion that followed.

Or, like in his case, be always near someone whose sole presence was comforting.

"How... how do you always have the right words to put me at ease?"

With a simple smile and a kiss, Ghirahim held Zant's entire universe in his hand. Little did the Twili know their experience was indeed very much shared.

"It is in fact something simple," he confessed. Zant leaned closer, eager to know his lover's secret.

But the response rendered him speechless. His mouth was but a line, but in that moment, it parted like flesh after receiving one of Ghirahim's precise sword slashes.  
Five words left Ghirahim's lips.  
Five is the perfect number.  
Five is a pentagon.  
Five is a star.  
Five connects...

"I listen to the stars."

Five conquered his love all over again.

 


End file.
